


A Fine Romance

by middlemarch



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Friendship, Humor, Romance, romance novels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 06:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12102882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: Okay, he knew enough not to say she tasted like chicken.





	A Fine Romance

Since Rosa, Rosa Mysterious-Unknown-Middle-Name Diaz!, had raised an eyebrow at Jake’s latest attempt at romance, 65% off generic Jell-O Pudding Cups in French vanilla delivered with a dashing “Go to town, babe!” and a flourish, a positive Fabio-cover-level flourish, Jake had resolved to up his game. He considered conferring with Charles or even Gina, despite what it would cost him (his sanity and his dignity respectively), but decided he could handle it on his own. He raided the lost-and-found for some classic literature, making sure to pick every paperback with a pirate, and sat through three hours, non-consecutively, of Lifetime programming. It hadn’t been enough.

“You taste like…kissing,” he said. He was supposed to breathe it or murmur, but his voice sounded too loud and defined for either of those verbs to work. Some kind of classical music tinkled in the background, because Amy liked that stuff. He’d chugged an espresso at 4 because every single one of her CDs was better than Ambien for him. He stared at Amy, lying below him, her nearly black hair magically spread out on the pillow the way the heroine’s always did, whether she was Lady Clarissa de Beaumont or the fiery-slash-scrappy Jessa O’Malley, a Gaelic stowaway with the Sight. Amy seemed unimpressed with his attempt at sweet-talk, but not bored. Or disgusted. He’d try again. After kissing her, deeply, nipping and licking and matching the pace of the kiss with his hand stroking her upper arm, grazing her full breast in the silky camisole Lady Clarissa would have given her eyeteeth for, he gave it his best shot.

“Mmm, babe, you taste like…all my tomorrows?” He’d stolen that from the second in the Jessa series, but Amy didn’t have to know that. She clearly didn’t and didn’t care; she just laughed. Really loudly, drowning out the piano and the cello in the background, enough that he would have been insulted if he hadn’t fucking loved watching her laugh so much, how her dark eyes were bright and how devastatingly sexy her body was trembling with her giddy giggles. He’d have to remember that line, it could work.

“Jake, what the hell?” she said. Again, just said, not cried out or sighed. Should he have worn his badge to bed? Strewn the covers with rose-petals—they might stain the sheets and she’d be pissed. She even knew how to fold fitted sheets and had explained it to him, with diagrams. He hadn’t been willing to risk the linens.

“I’m just trying to give you what you deserve. You’re, you know, you’re my lady,” he said softly.

“You don’t have to try so hard. I didn’t have any complaints before,” she replied, smiling up at him. She reached a hand to his face and cupped his stubbly cheek. She traced her thumb across his cheekbone and gave him a wicked look, shifting so that she hooked her leg behind his, her thigh pressed against his.

“‘Romantic stylez’ is not so romantic, I think,” he said, stumbling over the words a little as she moved, arching into him. 

“But it’s Jake and that’s who I love, you doofus. Why don’t you kiss me and not tell me what it tastes like? It’s killing the vibe, I keep thinking you’re going to say you can taste the pho I had for lunch,” she said, pulling him down to her. He kissed her mouth, that tasted like sugar, and her throat, that tasted like coconut and salt, the perfect place between her breasts that tasted like desire and spice. He kissed her everywhere and she tasted sweet and hot and his. He didn’t tell her until she was asleep in his arms, her face smushed against his chest, her hand on his belly.

“You taste like Amy, my Amy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just felt like a little Jake/Amy fooling around. The title is from a song by Jerome Kern.


End file.
